Chalk, Cloth and Teapots
by minnie313
Summary: A collection of Baxley OS/Fics
1. Est enim amicitia

A/N : Hello, hello, I'm finally writing my very first Baxley fic as I've been meaning to for months, now. As with _Between Cookbooks and Spells_ and _Bubbling Cauldrons and Pink Cardigans,_ this is intended as a collection of OS. The first one takes place right after Mr Molesley tells Miss Baxter that he is leaving the house to become a full-time teacher.

Rating: T

 _Est enim amicitia…_

Miss Baxter, having a few moments to spare before returning to her duties, has chosen, today of all days, to read a book that Jos- _Mr Molesley_ has offered her. Smiling to herself, she caresses the leather cover with one delicate finger, remembering with fondness the sparkle in his eye as he had given it to her, the childish glee that had overcome him as she had beamed and thanked him for it. She loves it when he beams at her, his eyes always sparkling with something … gentle, uplifting, hopeful, as if a light were shining from within him, just for her. And he often smiles at her when they are talking. She has always regarded it with pride, that she makes him smile so much.

She looks up and sees him coming from the other side of the corridor. He is in full livery. No doubt he has come downstairs to fetch a tray or other in the kitchen, full of the delicacies crafted by Daisy and Mrs Patmore. They both stop and smile at each other, and her heart skips a beat. He hesitates for a second, or two: it is obvious that he has an announcement to make.

"While you were away, I-" he begins

"Decided to accept Mr Dawes' offer. I knew you would, and I'm glad" she replies, meaning it completely. He has earned this chance at the school through his hard work, and she _is_ happy for him. Glad that his value is being recognised at last.

"Well, we won't lose touch, I'll walk up here often" It sounds like a promise, and she knows her eyes are positively shining.

"No, we won't lose touch. You can be sure of that" She says simply. For a moment, they look like they are going to embrace or kiss each other, then they both go their own way.

She schools her features, and gets to her seat, near the fireplace. As she opens her book, she tries very hard not to think of all the times she has sat there with him next to her. Knowing that, in two weeks maximum, at the beginning of the next term, he will be spending his evenings in his cottage, while she will remain here. Without him.

Suddenly, a thought strikes her, and she feels ice piercing her chest. What if she lost touch with him, despite their promise? What if he decided that he was better off forgetting her? She knows already that she will miss him terribly. And even if they see each other every week, it will not be the same. Could never be the same as seeing each other every day, working together side by side. And, with his new situation, will he be able to make time for her? But she shakes the thought off almost as soon as it is formed. Mr Molesley is not like that. They might not have _said_ it was a promise, but they had promised all the same: they will not lose touch.

Still, she already knows just how much she will miss him. She has been used to his almost constant presence in her life. Used to seeing him almost every day.

Not in the mood to read anymore, she gets back to her room. As soon as she is there, she closes her eyes, and sighs. Then, she puts the book back on her mantelpiece. She must try to put those thoughts at the back of her mind, she tells herself. She cannot afford to let him leave on a sour note, just because she cannot handle the thought of not seeing her …. – best friend, is not quite it, but they are not lovers either, not that it has not crossed her mind – whatever he is to her, every day.

That evening, Lady Grantham notices that she is preoccupied, but does not ask. Baxter, she surmises, is very private, and if she needs to talk to her, she will only do it at her own pace.

As the day he leaves draws nearer, Miss Baxter finds herself trying to spend as much time as possible in his presence. Cataloguing the micro expressions on his face, basking in the feel of him, helping him organise his things so that he can go to his cottage.

His penultimate day at Downton, she goes with him. Helps him organise his new home. When they are ready to go back to the house, he takes her hand in his.

"Miss Baxter, would-, that is-, I-."

She tilts her head to the side, wondering what might make him so nervous. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, then opens them again, fixating his gaze on her face.

"Miss Baxter, would you like to come to tea on your next afternoon off?"

She beams. She was right. They won't have any trouble keeping their promise.

"Yes, Mr Molelsey" she says "I'd like that very much"

She looks up at him and, tiptoeing, kisses him softly on the cheek.

 _Title taken from a famous quote from Cicero (the only one I like, tbh), from the Laelius dialogue:_

 _« Est enim amicitial nihil aliud nisi divinarum humanarumque rerum cum belevolentia et caritate consensio »_ : Friendship is nothing but an agreement on divine and human things, with benevolence and kindness.


	2. Soles occidere, et redire possunt

A/N : This is my second Baxley piece. It takes place in my Modern Archaeologist AU, where Phyllis Baxter is an archaeologist, specialising in European Roman sites (especially in England), and Joseph Molelsey (or "Joe", to his friends) is a classical languages specialist, a linguist (Indo-European languages: including Tokharian B, old Slavic, old Persian, Latin, Greek, etc.: if you are an Indo-European linguist, those are all languages that you have a good understanding of, nothing incredible, that does not make him a Gary Stu), and is interested in epigraphy, and Neo-Latin literature (non-professionally for that one).

As always, your feedback keeps me going, tells me what I do right (or not).

Rating: T

 _Soles occidere et redire possunt_ _(1)_

"Tell me I don't really have to go to the Faculty meeting, John." whined funny-looking Classical Languages and Literature Professor Joseph Molesley, as soon as his friend and colleague, Medieval Arabic Literature Professor John Bates, arrived. The man raised an amused eyebrow, chuckling at his friend's antics.

"Come on, Joe. Let's not be late. Last time, the Dean almost bit your head off"

Joe sighed, but apparently resigned to his fate, closed his office, and followed him in the corridor.

Joe would never change, thought John Bates, shaking his head fondly. The man was a whizz in languages, linguistics, even epigraphy. You could ask him to decipher, translate or interpret the most abscond textual fragment and, although it would take some time, he would always get back to you with a heavily documented answer. Not even hapaxes could resist the man! It was the same in the classroom. It had been long since the Faculty had had such an inspiring classical philologist teaching the grads and undergrads. The student positively enjoyed going to his Greek or Latin grammar class, or even to the Indo-European linguistics classes.

However, when it came to Faculty Meetings and drinks, Faculty Dinners, or the other social tasks – be it every day or required by his functions –, the man was so out of his element, that it was comical. Sitcom comical. Not that Joe was one of those socially awkward geniuses that made most of Hollywood's comic relief nowadays. Joe was a kind, socially astute, intuitive, serviceable man. Always ready to help. Well-liked, if somewhat pitiful. For her never seemed to get a break, to have any kind of luck. At least, not outside of his field. If someone happened to bump into the Dean, spilling both their drinks on each other, getting chew off, you could be sure, that it would be Joe. Someone happened to misplace their keys, and had to wait an hour and a half in their car, with rain pouring all over them, for his neighbours to arrive back home, and open his door? That was Joe. Getting drunk out of his mind at the last Faculty Dinner, dancing a curious mix of jitter and jive on 70's music, then crashing into a table and falling asleep on top of it? Joe. Only Joe. He had an uncanny ability to be clumsy and embarrass or humiliate himself in the most complicate manner in the simplest of settings, and at the least opportune moment, reflected John.

Still, he had a heart of gold, and had always be a good friend to John, supporting him even when his first marriage had gone pear-shaped, and John had fallen prey to alcoholism. It was thanks to Joe that he was out of it. He had also helped him with Anna, his current wife, when he had, at one point, been sweet on her himself. Yes, Joe was a good if awkward man.

Today, however, was the "First Faculty Meeting of the Year", school- year, that is. And Joe was already getting nervous, afraid of acting like a complete prat. It seemed that there would be one or two additions to the staff, and there would be the usual preparations for the Department Meetings to begin. John just patted his shoulder in a brotherly fashion, and pushed the man out of the library, and into the auditorium where the meeting would take place.

"Just relax, Joe, and don't overdo it on the booze. I think Charlie and old Mrs Crawley still haven't recovered from your performance last time." He said, unable to refrain from teasing him.

"Don't remind me" moaned Joe, passing a hand all over his face "I have a headache just thinking about it, and I still can't look them in the eye"

They took their seats at the back of the room, at the edge of the row, John on the inside, Joe on the outside, putting their jackets on the seat beside him. They chatted pleasantly, John giving his friend news of Anna and the children, while they waited for the Dean, Medievalist Professor Charles Carson, to arrive.

"Excuse me?" asked one of the gentlest, most charming voice that Joe had ever heard.

"H'm?" he said, his eloquence deserting him once more as he turned towards the woman who had just spoken, a gorgeous dark-haired siren.

"Is this seat taken?"

"Wha-?" he answered, then shaking off the hypnosis her appearance seemed to have put him under. "Oh! Sorry, sorry, let me just move my things." He mumbled, the tip of his ears already burning.

"Thank you" she said sitting down "I'm Phyllis Baxter, by the way."

Phyllis. Foliage. Demophon's lover. Even her name was beautiful. He thought gobsmacked. Thankfully, John kicked him in the ribs before he could make an even bigger fool of himself.

"Joseph. Molesley. But you can call me Joe."

"Then you must call me Phyllis"

(1) Quote from a latin poem by Catullus, meaning: Suns may set, and rise again


End file.
